Elizabeth McKay – Literary Love Letters of Robert and Elizabeth (Barrett) Browning – Draft

Elizabeth McKay – Literary Love Letters of Robert and Elizabeth (Barrett) Browning – Draft
Robert Browning, HB Humanities http://edsitement.neh.gov/lesson-plan/brownings-my-last-duchess-and-dramatic-monologue

 

Literary Love Letters from Robert: How a Courtship of Correspondence Caused a Sensation in a Victorian Woman Poet’s Life 

Elizabeth Mouton-Barrett – Early Life 

Elizabeth Mouton-Barrett was born to Edward and Mary (formerly Graham Clarke) Mouton-Barrett on 6 March 1806 in County Durham and baptized in the first week of her life (Stone). She was the oldest of twelve children (Encyclopedia Brittanica) — eight boys and four girls, all of whom lived to adulthood except one girl who died at 3-years-old (Stone). The family moved in 1809 to a 500-acre estate in Ledbury, Herefordshire called Hope End (Encyclopedia Britannica). Here, Elizabeth engaged in typical well-to-do family activities such as meals, walks, household play productions and concerts (Stone). One of the opportunities afforded to her by country living was horseback riding which she quite enjoyed (Encyclopedia Britannica). She is said to have started writing verses at the age of four (“Elizabeth Barrett Browning: An Introduction”). Educated at home by a tutor, Elizabeth displayed a penchant for the study of literature; by eight-years-old she had read Homer (in the original Greek) and then set out to write her own epic, The Battle of Marathon, A Poem. In 1819, her father printed 50 copies of the epic poem. In 1821, Elizabeth contracted a nervous condition (some have speculated its origins to be rooted in a spinal injury connected with riding) characterized by a generalized weakness, frequent headaches and fainting spells (Encyclopedia Britannia). When Elizabeth was 20, her mother contracted a fatal illness and her father began to lose his money (and eventually much of his estate). After Mary Mouton-Barrett’s death, the family moved to London.

In 1838, they settled at 50 Wimpole Street. From her London residence, Elizabeth’s literary circle widened and she published The Seraphim and Other Poems (1838). These were the first collections she published under her own name (unlike her previous An Essay On The Mind with Other Peoms (1826) and Prometheus Bound (1833)) (Encyclopedia Britannica). During her stay at Wimpole Street, Elizabeth’s doctors ordered a time of rest by the seaside. She moved temporarily to a resort with her brother Edward who drowned(!) after they had had a disagreement. Rather than the seaside environment helping her health, her shock and sorrow at a death connected to the seaside environment caused Elizabeth’s illness to worsen. As a result, she remained in her bedroom at Wimpole Street for the next five years, only receiving a small circle of family members and close friends as guests (Encyclopedia Britannica). In 1840, she published Poems (also under her own name) and it was this collection that prompted Robert Browning to first write to her.

10 January 1845

I love your poems with all my heart, dear Miss Barrett, —
and this is no off-hand complimentary letter that I shall write, — whatever else, no prompt matter-of-course negotiation of your genius and there a graceful and natural end of the thing: since the day last week when I first read your poems I quite laugh to remember how I have been turning and turning again in my mind what I should be able to tell you of their eggiest upon me — for in the first flush of delight I thought I would this once get out of my habit of purely passive enjoyment, which I do really enjoy, and thoroughly justify my admiration– perhaps even, as a loyal fellow-craftsman should, try and find fault and do you some little good to be proud of hereafter!– but nothing comes of it at all– so into me has it gone and part of me it has become, this great living poetry of yours, not a flower of which but took root and grew…

So begins Robert’s first letter to Elizabeth. Clearly he was deeply moved by her “genius” expressed in her “living poetry,” and to describe a poem as alive is among the highest compliments that I think can be given. Poetry requires engagement of the intellect on the part of the poet, the mind and voice on the part of the reader or speaker. Poetry is meant to be a person-to-person lending of voices and sharing of stories. That Robert describes Elizabeth’s poems as having accomplished precisely that quality of animation is perhaps the highest compliment one poet can give to another.

Noteworthy also is Robert’s articulation of his personal response to her work, “I love your poems with all my heart,” that is a bold and intense claim, especially as the opening line of a first letter! If sharing one’s emotions with another is a vulnerable act, he has situated himself from the start in a most susceptible position. He goes on to describe himself as having “flush[ed] with delight”. Blushing is very interesting in that it is a sort of crossroads between emotional and physiological responses (just as genuine laughter or fear is at the crossroads between emotional and bodily response), this phenomenon was likely interesting to the Victorians. Clearly Robert was deeply impressed.

He goes on to describe himself as “a faithful fellow-craftsman” in relation to her (as they are both poets and artists). Instead of following the common narrative of the Victorian era that men were inherently intellectually superior to women and generally experienced the world quite differently, Robert here places himself and Elizabeth on equal footing on the shared ground of artistry. It would seem rather a contradiction to praise her “genius” while nevertheless placing her beneath him in the artistic hierarchy, and so he elevates her (from the common narrative) to genius and equal.

Without delay, a day later, Elizabeth responded —

11 January 1845 

I thank you, dear Mr Browning, from the bottom of my heart. You meant to give me pleasure by your letter—and even if the object had not been answered, I ought still to thank you. But it is thoroughly answered. Such a letter from such a hand! Sympathy is dear—very dear to me: but the sympathy of a poet & of such a poet, is the quintessence of sympathy to me! Will you take back my gratitude for it?—agreeing too that, of all the commerce done in the world, from Tyre to Carthage, the exchange of sympathy for gratitude is the most princely thing?
For the rest you draw me on with your kindness. It is difficult to get rid of people when you once have given them too much pleasure—that is a fact, & we will not stop for the moral of it. What I was going to say .. after a little natural hesitation .. is, that if ever you emerge without inconvenient effort from your “passive state,” & will tell me of such faults as rise to the surface & strike you as important in my poems, (for of course, I do not think of troubling you with criticism in detail) you will confer a lasting obligation on me, and one which I shall value so much, that I covet it at a distance. I do not pretend to any extraordinary meekness under criticism—and it is possible enough that I might not be altogether obedient to yours. But with my high respect for your power in your Art & your experience as an artist, it wd be quite impossible for me to hear a general observation of yours on what appear to you my master-faults, without being the better for it hereafter in some way. I ask for only a sentence or two of general observation—and I do not ask even for that, so as to teaze you—but in the humble, low voice, which is so excellent a thing in women—particularly when they go a-begging! The most frequent general criticism I receive, is, I think, upon the style––“if I would but change my style”!– But that is an objection (is’nt it?) to the writer bodily? Buffon says, & every sincere writer must feel, that ‘Le style c’est l’homme–’:a fact, however, scarcely calculated to lessen the objection, with certain critics.
Is it indeed true that I was so near to the pleasure & honour of making your acquaintance?—and can it be true that you look back upon the lost opportunity with any regret?—— But you know, .. if you had entered the “crypt,” you might have caught cold, or been tired to death, & wished yourself “a thousand miles off,”—which wd have been worse than travelling them. It is not my interest however to put such thoughts in your head about its’ being “all for the best”!—& I would rather hope (as I do) that what I lost by one chance I may recover by some future one. Winters shut me up as they do dormouse’s eyes: in the spring, we shall see: & I am so much better that I seem turning round to the outward world again. And in the meantime, I have learnt to know your voice, not merely from the poetry but from the kindness in it– Mr Kenyon often speaks of you—dear Mr Kenyon!—who most unspeakably, or only speakably with tears in my eyes, .. has been my friend & helper, & my book’s friend & helper! critic & sympathizer .. true friend of all hours! You know him well enough, I think, to understand that I must be grateful to him.I am writing too much, notwithstanding,—and notwithstanding that I am writing too much,
I will write of one thing more. I will say that I am your debtor, not only for this cordial letter & for all the pleasure which came with it, but in other ways, & those the highest: & I will say that while I live to follow this divine art of poetry, .. in proportion to my love for it & my devotion to it, I must be a devout admirer & student of your works. This is in my heart to say to you—& I say it.And, for the rest, I am proud to remain
Your obliged & faithful
Elizabeth B Barrett.

____________

Elizabeth at first situates “gratitude and sympathy” in a historical context (“from Tyre to Carthage”) extending into the present, describing the combination as “princely” which gives the impression of high esteem and value. She goes on to ask for the honor of a small amount of criticism from him “(I do not think of troubling you with criticism in detail)” stating that such a response from him would “confer a lasting obligation” on her. In this succinct and clever way, she invites both a literary and personal friendship. Sharing criticism is a common and respected form of communication within literary circles, but that Elizabeth highlights that such an action on his part will confer on her a lasting obligation seems to imply a desire for lasting friendship. She goes on to assert that she might not blindly “obey” all of his suggestions, but that she has “high respect” for his “power… and experience as an artist.” Here, she clearly meets his proposition of their connecting as artists.

She states, as only a writer on the verge of falling in love could, “I have learnt to know your voice, not merely from poetry but from the kindness in it.” This is a striking line because it articulates her responsiveness to him both as a writer worthy of admiration or study and as a friend known by his kindness. It is interesting that her knowledge of his voice comes only from the written word, though she describes in this letter a twinge of sadness at having missed his visit (mentioned in his first letter), that, “It is not my interest however to put such thoughts in your head about its’ being “all for the best”!—& I would rather hope (as I do) that what I lost by one chance I may recover by some future one.” There seems here to be a relationship between her knowledge of his kind writerly voice and her wish to experience the in-person sound of his voice. The parallel of relationship between writerly and spoken voices is not hard to draw, and surely one that she wrote with the intention of him drawing. 

They continued correspondence, an exchange of poetic criticism and growing in loving knowledge of each other. They eventually met and ultimately fell in love.

Marriage, Parenthood, Publication and Death 

Robert and Elizabeth Browning secretly married on 12 September 1846. After the ceremony, they parted ways and continued to reside at their respective homes for the next week (Encyclopedia Britannica). Elizabeth did not tell her father of their marriage during the week that followed. Edward Mouton-Barrett enacted an extreme form of parental protectionism over his children, perhaps because he thought the husbands of his daughters could not hope to provide the level of material comfort to which they were accustomed (The Brownings Correspondence). Elizabeth’s brother George succinctly explains Edward’s position in a letter to Robert Browning dated 24 December 1888, “Our father was kind & tenderly attached to his children, in excess indeed as he could not bear the idea of a profession or marriage that would bring separation.” As a result of the marriage, as with all of his other children who married (The Brownings Correspondence), Edward promptly disowned Elizabeth.

The couple moved to Florence, Italy. Married life and the Mediterranean climate caused Elizabeth’s health to improve to such a degree that she was able to conceive and carry a child. She gave birth to Robert Wiederman Barrett Browning on 9 March 1849 (Encyclopedia Britannica). In 1850, Elizabeth published a second edition of Poems which included, at her husband’s suggestion, her collection of Sonnets to the Portuguese. In 1856 she published her famous Aurora Leigh poem. She sought to respond to the political turmoil of Italy with her 1851 Casa Guidi Windows and her 1860 Poems Before Congress These works were written to ascertain sympathy for the contemporary Italian cause of unity and independence.

She died on 29 June 1861 in Robert’s arms.

 

Sources:

“Browning, Elizabeth Barrett: Introduction.” Jessica Bomarito and Jeffrey W. Hunter (eds). Feminism in Literature: A Gale Critical Companion. Vol 2: 19th Century, Topics & Authors (A-B). Detroit: Gale, 2005. 467-469. Gale Virtual Reference Library. Web. 
 
Browning , Elizabeth Barrett, and Robert Browning. The Browning Letters, Baylor University, 14 Feb. 2016, digitalcollections.baylor.edu/cdm/search/collection/ab-letters/searchterm/Wellesley%20College/field/custod/mode/exact/conn/and/order/datei.
Encyclopedia Britannica. “Elizabeth Barrett Browning,” Encyclopedia Britannica, 24 Sept 2017. Web.
Kelley, Philip. “Edward Mouton-Barrett.” The Brownings’ Correspondence, The Brownings’ Correspondence, 2017. www.browningscorrespondence.com/biographical-sketches/?id=970.
Merman, Dorothy (1989), Elizabeth Barrett Browning: The Origins of a New Poetry’, University of Chicago Press, ISBN 978-0226520391, pp. 19–20.
 
Stone, Marjorie. “Browning, Elizabeth Barrett (1806-1861)”, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004; online edition, October 2008.